I've been mostly gone and sporadically updating for long enough that most of you probably don't care to read about my life anymore, but in the unlikely case that anyone still remembers me, here you have it:

I'm eighteen now. I'm trying my damndest to get my life sorted out. I'm seeking alternative therapy for my OCD and major depressive episodes as everything else seems to have failed. I'm applying to colleges, though I don't have the faintest notion where I want to go. For now, I'm just going through the motions and hoping for the best.

Notably, Matt and I are still doing wonderfully. We're nearing our third anniversary. It's nice to have at least one thing remain stable even if everything else is hectic and chaotic and scary. Even if I don't know who I am, at least I know who WE are... and that's something.

Maybe you'll see more of me around here soon. I always say that. I know. I'm sorry.

- Nicole

It could be interpreted as pathetic or even pitiable that this previously unfathomable level of anxiety- no, terror- might be caused by some intangible 'monster' the likes of which cannot be expressed to my knowledge by any form of human expression. So bizarre is this disease that the presumptuous masses are rendered incredulous and assume exaggeration. I am uncertain how I might detail to these souls that my condition is as grave as a cancer: it infects the mind, slowly mutating any shred of normalcy I might have had into oblivion. I cannot hope to explain that. I can, however, attempt to put into perspective my overwhelming despair.

Every day is another lesson in mental anguish and abject misery. Often in the confines of my home I cease to recall the horrors to which I have been subjected a mere few hours previous. My careless lack of recollection at these times instills in me a false hope that the new day might be infinitesimally less unbearable.

But it does not relent. Seven and a half years have metamorphosed to infinitude. I live and love in a state of perpetual dread and internal turmoil of sorts. Thusfar every therapy and remedy has failed me. Even love, the apex of all things human, the pinnacle of our existance, cannot deliver me from this.

Untreatable by modern medicine, I decay.

-Nicole

It sounds more like an angry badger eating peanut butter.

Mood: Blank
Listening to: Violent Pornography by SOAD
Reading: The Greatest Generation by Tom Brokaw (assigned)

Over this summer....

People who I have seen (intentionally): 2
People who I have asked to hang out: 23
People who said they were busy: 16
\People who may legitimately have been busy: 4
People who blocked me, got a new screen name, or pretended to be away/offline, thinking I wouldn't notice: 3
People who talked shit behind my back, also apparently thinking I wouldn't notice: 5
\People who did it in their xanga, myspace, livejournal, or stupid shit blog: 3
People, out of the 23, who I still want to see at some point: 7


But hey, it's not like I'm bitter or anything.* Video games are so much cooler than people.











* Fuck you.

I think it might be cake.

Mood: Decent

Sorry about the whole absence thing, to anyone who cares. I always mean to come on and be on the forums and comment and all, but lately I've felt hugely inadeqaute when it comes to my 'art'. I feel like people come to my page, see it, and automatically assume I'm not serious. Or that I suck- not that that's wrong or anything.

I'll probably finish up some pieces I've been working on in a bit, and once I submit those I should be able to be around here more.

So it looks like school will be starting up again soon.

I've bought new clothes. I've got paper and pencils. I'm working on the summer reading.

But can I really be ready to go back? It seems so out of place that someone such as myself, always viewed as extroverted and confident, could be so worried about something like this. But underneath it all I feel alone and quite misunderstood.

I don't hate everyone. I just pretend to hate them so they can't hate me first.

I'm NOT extroverted; it's all an act. It's my defense against people who talk shit.

I HAVE FEELINGS. I know who among you are spreading lies behind my back. Did you really think I wouldn't find out? I may be absent-minded, but I'm certainly not stupid.

And worse yet, I want to forgive everyone, and I hate myself for it.

I will go back with a clean slate. Everyone who has ever done anything to me is from this point on forgiven to the maximum extent that I can forgive. If you choose to continue to treat me like shit, I hope to God you can find peace with yourself. You're nearly adults now. Start acting like it.